


Rorschach

by entanglednow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mutilation, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-09
Updated: 2010-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-14 12:42:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone is different after the apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rorschach

Sam hadn't expected to be around after the apocalypse. He hadn't expected to be part of whatever happened afterwards. He's still getting used to the fact that he's alive again, somehow. That he's back in a motel room, surrounded by his things, laptop open at a reference on flying creatures and their weaknesses. Like everything's normal. Like everything's good.

He's not alone though, and that's maybe the most surprising part of all.

Gabriel's stolen Sam's bed because he doesn’t need one of his own. There's a glass dish full of ice cream balanced in his lap. He's doing his best to empty it while Sam works on the more pressing issue of trying to find the nest of harpies they've been hunting across two states.

Of all the people Sam hadn't expected to show up and help them mop up the mess that the apocalypse had managed to throw everywhere, Gabriel would definitely have come somewhere near the top of the list. Not least because he'd been dead. He isn't dead now. But he is a stranger, slightly less unpredictable version of himself. As if he's doing penance, somehow. Though Sam doesn't think he'd ever admit to it if he was.

However he'd managed to come back he's not talking about it. He is, however, providing help so for once Sam's not going to question. Not going to question why he's here with him either, why he pesters Sam and not Dean, or Castiel.

Dean's next door, Sam assumes that Castiel's there too. But he's willing to bet they're not working as diligently on the problem of harpies. Honestly, if Dean didn't want Sam to know about his epic angel love affair then he shouldn't have booked a room that was _right next door._ God knows they've stayed at enough motel rooms for him to know how thin the walls usually are by now. Or maybe sex just makes Dean stupid. Either way Sam's decided to be happy for them both from a safe distance and not bring it up unless absolutely necessary.

Maybe not even then.

He skirts the Archangel to pick up another stack of books from beside the bed. He's fairly sure there's only extra notations about air elementals rather than flying creatures in there but he's going to be thorough anyway.

Gabriel leans out of the way without looking up, which annoys Sam for some reason he can't name. So on the way back to the table he steals Gabriel's spoon and as much chocolate sauce laced vanilla ice cream as he can fit in his mouth.

He can feel Gabriel eyeing him all the way back to the table.

"This is a new you, Sam, when did you decide that life was too short to carry that stick up your ass?"

"You were dead at the time," Sam says simply when he finally drags the spoon out of his mouth. Because he feels like Dean has the right idea sometimes with getting to the heart of the matter.

"That does seem like the best possible excuse to get out of saving the world," Gabriel points out. "I wasn't even faking, which I've done before, more than once. This was genuine, fat lady singing, goodnight Vienna, flat line on the heart monitor, atoms across the universe, dead. That's very dead, trust me on that one."

"You did though." Sam can't resist that.

"Did what?" Gabriel sounds curious.

Sam swings round on the chair. "Save the world, Or tried to anyway."

"And look at what it got me?" Gabriel drawls.

"From where I'm sitting it looks like it got you an ice cream sundae," Sam says carefully.

Gabriel glares at him around his new spoon. Then it shifts into a smile and the spoon ends up pointed at him accusingly.

"You didn't used to be so good with the big picture either, Sam, I think I'm impressed with all this personal growth." Gabriel's face is all contained amusement and Sam suspects there's a comment about Lucifer being inside him being good for him on the tip of his tongue.

Sam decides he's going to change the subject before that happens.

"I'm thinking you should be helping, and not stuffing your face with food you don't even need to eat."

Gabriel twirls the spoon he's holding and raises an eyebrow.

"You're denying the recently dead life's simple pleasures, that hurts me, Sam."

Sam glares at him. "Helping, Gabriel."

"And how exactly would you like me to do that?"

Sam shuts the laptop with a snap and pushes the chair back. This time he steals the whole dish. Gabriel still looks far too amused and Sam's tempted to push him, to see if he can find the sharpness underneath.

Because he feels like he's waiting for it, for that tension. That quiet threat of violence.

Gabriel licks the spoon clean. "You could have just said if you wanted ice cream of your own, Sam."

Sam leans right into his space not entirely sure what he's going to do until Gabriel smiles that impossible, arrogant smile and Sam can't help but wipe it off his face for good.

Gabriel's mouth is warm and Sam might have underestimated just how much he's changed since he came back.

"I thought Dean was the impulsive Winchester," Gabriel manages, breath so close he can feel the chill of the ice cream on it. Sam exhales roughly and goes to pull away, only to be stopped by the fierce grip of Gabriel's hand on the back of his neck. "I never said stop," Gabriel growls and he's all _teeth._

Sam doesn't know what he's doing, doesn't know what he's looking for in this _insanity._ But he's already knee-deep in the mattress and Gabriel already has fingers under his shirt, warm and then sharp and he's impossible to push away from. Sam doesn't even know if he wants to.

"Tell me to stop," he says roughly. Instead Gabriel bites him, one long slice of pain at his jaw and Sam's kissing him so hard he can't breathe, dragging the jacket down his arms in a way that's messy and awkward and human.

He knows how strong Gabriel is, knows he could break him if he wanted to. But he's not even trying, he's not even holding him.

"Make me stop," Sam says, though it's quieter, harsher. He thinks he's talking more to himself now.

There's a rough exhale against his mouth, and Gabriel's eyes are wide and hotter than Sam's ever seen them.

"You don't want me to stop you though, do you? You like punishing yourself too much, remember, and me - well I deserve it don't I. After everything I've done?"

That makes Sam stop, fingers moving but not clenching tight in Gabriel's hair.

"You were a dick to us," Sam insists. "I'm still fairly sure I should be pissed at you, about a lot of things."

Gabriel's hums and presses his fingers into Sam's waist in a way that Sam knows is designed to distract him from _thinking_ , to distract him from everything.

Gabriel laughs. "By all means, be angry. Angry is good, angry makes you aggressive and enthusiastic in a way you'll probably feel guilty about later. I could tell you not to, but it would make no difference, would it? You're far too fond of dwelling on your mistakes -" Gabriel's voice cracks when Sam shoves him into the headboard. But then he peers up at him in a way that says, in no uncertain terms, that if Sam expects the Archangel Gabriel to be rattled by a little wall-slamming then he's stupider than his hair makes him look.

Sam kind of hates the fact that he has a voice in his brain that sounds like Gabriel.

"I don't even know why I'm doing this," Sam admits.

"Because Dean has an angel of his very own and you're jealous and I'm the only other angel that doesn’t call you an abomination on a daily basis."

There's a brief flirtatious eyebrow.

"I could call you an abomination if you want me to."

Sam does dig his fingers into Gabriel's hair then. He tugs his head back and kisses him hard. Somewhere between genuine desire and the need to make Gabriel be quiet because there's too much between them that's not friendly, that's not even kind. He's not even entirely sure if they _like_ each other, and maybe Gabriel is right, maybe he's jealous. Maybe Sam's only doing this because he wants to be special too, because he wants to deserve something that isn't demons, and Lucifer and hell.

Just for once.

"Do you even want this?" He can't help but ask. Because it's impossible to know what Gabriel's thinking, to know anything, under the smiles and the innuendo and the sharpness of him.

"I don't have anything better to do," he says smoothly, which doesn't tell Sam anything, doesn't give anything away.

Sam thinks he can punish him for that if nothing else, and the noise Gabriel’s skull makes when he shoves him into the wall again is reassuringly solid. But it gets him a laugh and a hand tilting his mouth just right. The kiss is deep and Sam can feel it all the way down to his bones, all pressure and tension and need.

Gabriel's shirt rips and there's an irritated grunt under his mouth but Sam's too busy hauling it down Gabriel's arms, before he's breaking away to breathe and he has to look down.

He has to look.

His hands fall away, suddenly too numb to hold on. He's falling back, drawing away, because Gabriel is -

There's a spill of darkness in the middle of Gabriel's ribcage, a pure and impossible black where Lucifer stabbed him. It trails outward in a spread of lines and black veins. Where the blade punched in and he shattered out like glass.

"Gabriel?" Sam says in wavering, uncertain shock.

"Nice, isn't it?" Gabriel says lazily. His head's still tipped back against the wall, but his eyes are completely unreadable.

Every useless thought that had been in Sam's brain recedes under the sharp white of confused horror.

"How -"

"Dying when you're human's easy," Gabriel tells him. "Dying when you're an Archangel - that's something very different."

Sam's hand is already half raised before he realises that Gabriel might not want him to, that this vicious spider web is a very real reminder of exactly how he died, of the fact that he _could_ die. Gabriel's head tips to the side, but it doesn't look anything like Castiel's questioning head tilt. It feels sharper, more knowing, there's a dare somewhere there.

Sam doesn't know where to put his hand, doesn’t know how to touch now.

Gabriel catches his falling wrist and lifts it again, and the gesture is more than clear enough. He catches Gabriel's eyes once and finds nothing that suggests Gabriel is just pandering to his whims, nothing that wants him to stop. So Sam lets his fingers stretch out and touches, he touches the lines of inky darkness. The marks are colder, the lines and cracks of black chill under his fingers, but he can't feel the difference on the skin, it's perfectly smooth under his fingertips. Where Archangel broke its way free and burned to ash.

"Is this just your vessel, or -" Sam stops because he doesn’t know where to go from there. Doesn't even really know if Gabriel made this body himself or stole someone else's life.

"I'm still in one piece," Gabriel says, in answer to the question Sam didn't even ask. "All depth and wings and light. But, yes, I have a nice one that matches on my original form."

"I don't understand," Sam admits, because angels should come back perfect, shouldn’t they? When they're brought back to life.

"I don't know," Gabriel says simply. Still answering questions that never make their way free. "I'm the first Archangel who's died and come back. Maybe it's a thing, or maybe it's so I have this handy reminder." He doesn't say anything else, mouth tight at the edges.

Sam doesn't quite know what to say, doesn't know whether he should say sorry, or whether that's redundant since Gabriel being here at all is kind of a miracle.

"I've done worse, Sam, I've done far worse than this."

"To people that deserved it," Sam says quietly.

He's not expecting the soft curl of laughter. "Not always."

Sam shakes his head, numbly, he can't take his eyes off of it. It's more like a spill of ink than a scar.

Gabriel sighs.

"You don't have to look at it if you're feeling squeamish, I can roll over." There's nothing underneath the words but a dry sort of practicality, something in Sam's chest clenches anyway. It leaves him cold all the way through, mouth numb.

Gabriel huffs out something irritated, already shifting around in the sheets, until Sam catches his waist and holds him there, holds him still.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, can't help asking.

"No," Gabriel says quietly, though there's a sharp twist of mouth to go with it.

"But you can feel it?"

There are no words this time but Sam can tell he's somewhere near the truth. How can he not feel this? Where the Archangel Gabriel was ripped open from the inside. It doesn't matter how or why, this is horrific.

Gabriel shouldn't be this.

He shouldn't be _broken._

Gabriel's eyes narrow sharply and Sam knows he heard that.

"I didn't mean it like that," Sam protests. "You don't deserve this -"

Gabriel's laugh cuts him off.

"I left, and I became something I was never meant to be, I had people sacrificed in my name, Sam. I deserve so much more than this." Gabriel's pulling his way up his body, fingers pushing Sam's shirt up as he goes, and Sam can't help but inhale at the warmth, at the surety of Gabriel's hands. He lets him slide his shirt up until he can push it over his head and drop it behind him. Gabriel's hands are in his hair instead then, tugging his head down.

Sam kisses him again. Though it's not fierce anymore, it's not angry.

"Sam," Gabriel protests, because he can feel the change.

"Shut up," Sam says simply and Gabriel huffs but relaxes, lets Sam push him back down. Sam doesn't ask if he's too heavy. Doesn't ask if this is ok. This is something different, this is somewhere completely different.

He spreads his hand open on Gabriel's stomach, feels it twitch underneath him. Before he slides it upwards, trails the lines of darkness with his fingers.

Gabriel is completely silent, there's nothing but the low almost-real hush of his breathing.

"Sam," he says again.

Sam looks at him, tries to read something in his expression, but there's nothing there he could define. Gabriel doesn't stop him though and Sam follows the movement, follows the darkness outward, where it drifts round a nipple and then fades away.

"Is there any way to -"

"If He wanted it fixed, it wouldn't be there," Gabriel says, his voice is quiet, but gentle. It's almost as if he's reassuring Sam that everything is alright. That this is ok.

Sam lets his hand lay flat, feeling where cold and warmth meet.

He stretches up the bed, tips Gabriel's head back and kisses him. It starts careful because it's not about greed, not anymore. There's a hum of warning there somewhere, like Gabriel needs to remind what he is, what he can do.

That he doesn’t want pity.

Sam bites him, one, quick, hard punch of teeth. He gets a hiss and a laugh for his trouble and Gabriel's soft again, pliant enough for Sam to drag his belt open while his mouth opens at his throat and catches the skin, lets his teeth press in.

Then he slides lower, past the dark, cold spaces. He strays briefly across to Gabriel's nipple, mouth open and teeth dragging over the skin. There's a growl in the Archangel's throat that cuts off when he goes lower. Gabriel inhales, quiet enough that Sam almost misses it. He tenses again under the slow, steady trail of Sam's mouth. But Sam's careful with the dark lines, the taste of that dead space is flat like metal.

Gabriel finally exhales, relaxes just a little. It's brief though, Sam's fingers catch the zipper of Gabriel's jeans and tug them open. He drags both them and his shorts all the way down before tossing them sideways.

Gabriel swears, heel dragging on the sheets.

Sam catches his ankle and tugs, leaving Gabriel scowling at him, stretched out naked on his bed. Sam slips up between his thighs and presses down where he's hard, where they're both hard, shoved together tight enough to make him groan out a breath.

Gabriel winds his legs round Sam's waist. "This isn't exactly fair -"

"Shut up," Sam tells him. Then he slithers down, shoving Gabriel's thighs up and open. It's been a while since he's done this. But Gabriel's making loose, shocked noises like he can't quite believe Sam's going to.

He pulls one of Gabriel's legs over his shoulder, feels the sharp dig of a heel into his spine and the low growl Gabriel makes when his breath flares over the rigid line of his cock. It breaks when Sam slides a hand round the base, when he opens his mouth around him. Gabriel's heavy in his mouth, and he chokes on a breath, edges up with his hips like he can't help it and slides across Sam's tongue.

Sam takes it, takes everything, fingers catching Gabriel's thighs and sucking sharply.

Gabriel doesn’t protest anything, he gasps and tenses at tongue and teeth and the dig of nails into his skin. Like he wants everything, everything Sam has to give, shaking just a little, just enough that Sam digs his fingers in and makes it hard, makes it dirty.

Gabriel is better than this but Sam wants to do this, wants to pull these noises out of him, make them low and hard and desperate.

He's crushing the weight of his own erection into the bed, hard enough to hurt, resisting the urge to push into the mattress. Because Gabriel's hands are in his hair, fingers digging and shifting like they don't know how to stay still. Quick little flicks of pain which Sam takes without complaint. There's a quiet but steady stream of words, mostly English, but not always. Some of the words are sharp and shrill and nothing close to human and Sam doesn't know when Gabriel last got to do this without having to hide what he is. All the jumbled, complicated, jagged pieces of him.

Sam digs his fingers into the leg thrown over his shoulder, feels it tense and catch, before sinking down, taking as much of Gabriel as he can into his throat. Gabriel hisses out his name and comes, breathless and unsteady, fingers tangling in the sheets and Sam's hair in a way that feels like hard-won restraint. It feels real, all sharpness and darkness and Gabriel _._

There's a soft, wet exhale that sounds like relief.

Sam's already shoving a hand into his jeans, too greedy to wait or to try anything because that sharp, desperate urge to come is too close.

All it takes is a handful of cramped, awkward shoves into his own fist. Before he's groaning into the warmth of Gabriel's thigh, teeth biting down in a way he doesn't quite mean to.

But Gabriel hisses quiet appreciation.

"Sam," he murmurs and it's low and breathless, like he doesn't even realise he's done it.

Gabriel's fingers are still shifting in his hair. It's not restless any more. It's slow, careful, it's something closer to petting. Sam should probably stop him, but his stomach's warm and his body's still humming with the quiet loose pleasure of orgasm.

He gets the feeling that maybe Gabriel needs this more than he does.

  



End file.
